


The Silver Dagger

by Charmsilver



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery, Post-Prisoner of Azkaban
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-15 08:12:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8048899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charmsilver/pseuds/Charmsilver
Summary: Remus has barely settled back into his old life when Sirius Black appears in his kitchen, thin and pale and desperately in need of a bath. But any hope of a quiet summer is dashed by the arrival of a letter containing a strange request from Dumbledore, which draws Remus and Sirius into an increasingly sinister plot.Picks up straight after PoA and concludes right around the beginning of GoF.





	1. Hogwarts

Remus woke in the forest.

He was in a clearing, lying sprawled in the dewy grass, sunlight filtering through the treetops above him. His cheek was pressed against the ground and his right arm was sandwiched awkwardly underneath his body.

His limbs ached. He moved slowly, rolling over onto his back and pausing to assess the pain. He could feel a shallow cut on his neck where Sirius had grabbed him with his mouth, and there were striped wounds across his arms and chest.

Memories of the night before flashed through his mind. He had transformed not far from the castle entrance and Sirius had transformed too, using his similar size to control the wolf. They had struggled, and Remus had led them both into the forest. He remembered the dementors coming, remembered slashing Sirius across the chest so that he fell, and then Remus had fled, the wolf frightened by the dark, hooded creatures.

Remus’ insides twisted with worry. What had happened to Harry, Ron and Hermione? Where was Peter? And Sirius⎯the dementors had been closing in; Remus remembered little else, except flickering images of the forest as he crashed through it, howling. Had they administered the kiss?

Remus struggled to his feet. The pain in his limbs intensified and he leaned against a tree, breathing hard.

If only he had taken the potion. They would have reached the castle with Peter in tow, and they’d have had a chance to clear Sirius name.

But now?

Remus was sure Peter had transformed right after he, and they wouldn’t have had any hope of finding him in the dark. Without Peter, Sirius’ story was impossible to verify. Harry, Ron and Hermione had believed it, but they were only children, hardly credible witnesses.

Remus berated himself silently. If he had not been so distracted by the map, by the names he saw upon it… but it was no use thinking about it now. There was nothing he could do except find his way back to the castle.

At that moment, he heard a rustling in the bushes to his left. He swung around, reaching for the wand that was no longer in his pocket. Cursing, he called out, “who’s there?” and tried to stand up a little straighter.

A centaur emerged from between the trees; he was a huge, roan beast with long, shaggy hair, which was plaited in long ropes down its back. Remus squinted up at his face and recognised him instantly.

“Castor,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“You are deep in the forest, werewolf. This is centaur territory, you know.” The centaur pawed the ground and came a little nearer.

Remus stood up straighter. “Forgive me, Castor. You know that I⎯”

“Long has it been since your howls echoed through these woods. Tell me, where are your companions?”

“My⎯companions?” Remus blinked, slowly. “You mean James, and Sirius, and⎯” He paused, swallowing. “They are⎯well, you haven’t⎯you didn’t hear?”

“You have suffered much, I can see that.” Castor’s brown eyes regarded Remus thoughtfully. “I have seen things, in the stars. Terrible things.”

“Yes.” Remus nodded gravely. “I must get back to the castle. Castor, how far from Hogwarts am I?”

“Far,” said Castor, “I will lead you part of the way. Follow me.” He turned and moved into the trees from where he came. Remus staggered after him, hurrying to keep up with the centaur’s swift gait.

***

The journey through the Forbidden Forest took the better part of an hour. In that time, Remus remained lost in his thoughts, speaking nothing to the centaur. He kept picturing Sirius’ gaunt face in his mind, those sunken cheeks and grey, mirthless eyes. He looked so unlike the Sirius Remus remembered. Yet he _was_ the same man. Remus had trusted him long ago, trusted him with his life, and for twelve years that trust had been betrayed.

Now it was restored again.

But would Sirius even be Sirius when Remus returned to the castle? Or a shallow vessel of a man, nothing more than a pile of skin and bones? Remus shuddered and walked on, stepping carefully over the tree roots as he went.

At last Castor came to a standstill. “This is where I leave you, werewolf.” He turned to look at Remus, not unkindly. “You have changed much, since we last met. I was glad to see you again.”

Remus nodded. “Thank you, Castor.”

He seemed to hesitate, then spoke in a sonorous voice, “beware the clashing of snake and lion, and blood on a silver blade. This I have seen in the stars.” He frowned, then shook his great shaggy head. “But I can say no more. Farewell.” The centaur gave Remus one last searching look, then turned and cantered away.

Remus, shaking off the cold feeling of dread he felt at Castor’s words, hurried towards the edge of the forest and emerged near Hagrid’s cabin. He hastened up the grounds towards the castle and entered through the great double doors, heart beginning to pound. Without a second thought he went straight to the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office, muttered the password, and ascended to the landing above.

***

It was better than he could have hoped for. The story of Harry and Hermione’s rescue effort was astonishing, but Remus was not as surprised as he might have been; Harry was so like James, it was disconcerting.

Peter had escaped, as Remus had feared, and he could not help but blame himself. Sirius was still a wanted man, but he was alive and remained in possession of his soul. This knowledge comforted Remus as he climbed numbly through the castle to his office.

Inside, the room was dark and musty and Remus suddenly felt unsure of his place here. Dumbledore had not relieved him of his post, but he was sure he could not teach at Hogwarts any longer. Not after his mistake last night. If he were to ever forget the potion again⎯well, the consequences could be most dire indeed. It had been lucky, extraordinarily lucky, that he had not bitten anyone.

He sank down into his chair and stared down into the Marauder’s map, still open on his desk. Small figures roamed over it, students and staff members going about their business, most unaware of last night’s events. There was the passage to the Shrieking Shack, so carefully charted by he and his friends. He scanned the grounds, searching for Peter’s name, but he knew it was pointless. Peter would be long gone by now; he had probably fled to Hogsmeade and disapparated. After a final, agonising glance, Remus tapped the map with his wand that he had retrieved from Dumbledore, murmured _mischief managed_ and set the map aside.

Slowly, he opened the drawer in his desk and took out parchment and quill. _Dear Padfoot_ , he wrote, his throat constricting as he scratched the familiar nickname into the yellowing parchment.

He paused, lost for what more to say. It seemed a lifetime ago that he had seen Sirius, though it had only been a few hours. What could he possibly say? How could he express… what? He hardly knew himself.

With a sigh he put the quill onto the paper once more and scribbled a brief message:

_Glad to hear you’re safe. Be careful._

_Write me if you can._

_Yours faithfully,_

He hesitated, then signed his old nickname, _Moony_. He folded the paper and stuffed it inside a small envelope quickly.

Where would Sirius go? He wondered, sinking back into his chair. Would he leave the country? Or try to stay near Harry? Probably the latter, Remus decided; he had seen the warmth with which he had looked at the boy. Sirius was as loyal as ever, he had proven that last night.

What could Remus do? He felt useless, hollow, exhausted.

The sound of footsteps at his office door interrupted his melancholy and Remus snapped his head up to see Severus Snape entering the room, a cold, angry look on his face.

“Ah,” drawled the professor. “I see you made it back to the castle in one piece. What a pity.”

Remus ignored this. “Hello, Severus.” His voice sounded strained, even to himself.

Snape smiled nastily. “I have just come to inform you that I, ah, let slip this morning about your little _problem_. You won’t be teaching here any longer; my students are quite concerned about the _danger_ you pose.”

Remus’ heart sank. He had hoped to leave quietly, without causing a stir, but there was no chance of that now.

“Very well,” Remus replied resignedly. “I am sorry we could never overcome our differences, Severus.”

Snape sneered. “Black will be found, you know. And when he is, _you_ will not be there to save his hide.”

The man was impossible to argue with, Remus decided. He waved Snape towards the door. “I cannot make you see reason, Severus. I thank you for your help this year and now I hope you will leave me in peace.”

The potions master looked smug. He turned away and strode out the door, his long robes slithering across the stone floor as he left. Remus, tired and aching, began to pack his things into a battered suitcase.

***

He did not take the train this time, could not face the students’ stares and whispers. Harry, Ron and Hermione had come to see him before he left; they had asked him to stay at Hogwarts, and though he had felt cheered by their kind words, he knew his time teaching was finished. Even without Snape’s admission, he could not trust himself to be near so many students.

In Hogsmeade, Remus adjusted the Grindylow tank under his arm, gripped his suitcase tightly, and disapparated from the street.

There was a moment of sickening weightlessness, and then he landed in the backyard of his parents’ old house. The yard was overgrown and wildflowers had sprouted up all over the place. A troop of ugly gnomes had moved in and they had dug little trenches all around the perimeter, as if to keep intruders out. Their beady little eyes stared at him as he passed.

Remus sidestepped a particularly poisonous looking toadstool and made his way towards the back door of the ramshackle house.

It was a small, comfortable cottage, nestled at the edge of a quiet, largely muggle hamlet. The yard backed onto a forest, which stretched for miles across the countryside. It was, in fact, the very forest where Remus had been bitten as a young boy.

Inside, the house was dark and dusty; Remus had not been back to visit since his appointment at Hogwarts, and he’d had no one looking after it while he was away. He dropped the large tank and his suitcase on the floor beside the door, then with a wave of his wand he drew back the curtains and let the sunlight flood into the house.

Dust had settled on every surface, illuminated now by the bright light streaming through the windows. He had entered into the kitchen, in the middle of which was a large oak table with benches either side. He picked up the tank, placed it on the table, and carried his suitcase through the sparse living room and down the hallway into his room.

He laid the suitcase on the bed and sat down next to it, sinking into the springy mattress. It was odd to be home, after the events of the past year. He felt suddenly isolated, a feeling that ought to be familiar to him, but which now sat uncomfortably, like a lead weight, in his chest. What could he do here, cut off from the entire wizarding world?

Even the muggles thought this house was abandoned; he kept the lawn untidy and overgrown, let the weatherboards crumble and the paint peel. The muggles rarely came this way, and when they did they looked past it, seeing nothing except an old, derelict cottage.

He comforted himself with the knowledge that Sirius would make contact in time. At least, Remus hoped he would.

Remus pulled off his shoes. He slumped back onto the bed, not bothering to crawl under the covers, and fell into a restless sleep.


	2. A Visitor in the Night

A letter arrived a week later. It was written on the back of flyer advertising some sort of muggle production. Remus knew it was from Sirius immediately; it was addressed to _Moony_ and the handwriting was as poor as it had ever been.

 _Got your message._ It began. _I am fine, Buckbeak too. Got to keep moving until things die down. Where are you living?_ The next sentence was crossed out. Then Sirius had signed it, obviously in a hurry.

_Yours, Pads._

Remus clutched the note in trembling fingers and read it three times over. He pulled a spare piece of paper towards him and scrawled a quick reply.

_Padfoot,_

_Stationwood. My parent’s old place, if you remember._

_Relieved to hear from you._

_Yours,_  
_Moony_

He hesitated, then gave it to the owl, who flew away without a backwards glance. He hoped the letters were sufficiently cryptic to give nothing away, but he was anxious all the same.

Remus squinted at the letter from Sirius; he tried to decipher the words beneath the scribble but couldn’t make sense of them. Sighing, he drew his wand and muttered incendio. The flyer caught fire and crumpled into a heap of ash on the table. Remus swept it up in his hands and threw it into the wind outside.

After that no more letters arrived from Sirius. Dumbledore wrote, and McGonagall too. There was no word on Peter, not even a whisper, and the Ministry remained convinced of Sirius’ guilt. Remus had hoped, of course, that Peter would be caught and that this whole nightmare would end, but as time passed it became clear that nothing of the sort was going to happen.

The full moon crept ever closer, much too quickly for Remus’ liking, and soon he was preparing to make a trip to Diagon Alley where he could purchase the Wolfsbane Potion. Luckily his tenure at Hogwarts had allowed Remus more in the way of funds than usual, and his vault at Gringotts was looking considerably fuller than last he had looked.

He took out only a few galleons and sickles, enough for one draught of the potion. At the apothecary, he put in his order quietly, but couldn’t prevent the wary stare that the potion maker gave him. “It’ll be ready in two hours,” he told Remus, handing him a paper with his name and requested potion on it. Remus stowed it in his pocket and exited the shop, stepping into the sunlit street of Diagon Alley.

There wasn’t anything else for Remus to do, so he made his way up the street and into Newt & Newt’s Teahouse where he ordered a strong Knotgrass tea. A copy of the Daily Prophet lay on the table next to his, and Remus pulled it towards him, already scanning the headlines for Sirius’ name.

In fact, the front page made no mention of Sirius; instead there was a huge spread on the Quidditch World Cup, which was coming up in a few weeks. Remus found Sirius name on page six, in one of the briefs.

 _Sirius Black spotted in muggle village._  
_Escaped convict Sirius Black was spotted in the muggle town of Shrewsbury yesterday afternoon. Ministry officials have been dispatched to the scene but are confident that Black is now in flight. They urge all witches and wizards to remain vigilant, but are reducing resources in the search for Black in light of last month’s events at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

This was a relief to Remus; the Ministry had obviously realised they could not employ the dementors in the search for Black any longer, and without them it was hopeless. Sirius was leading a false trail away from Hogwarts, away from Harry, and the Ministry had all but given up.

He skimmed the page but there was nothing else on Sirius. His eyes jumped to the next brief and he flicked his eyes over it almost absentmindedly:

 _Precious Dagger Stolen_  
_A priceless dagger was stolen from the home of a well-known wizarding family on Saturday night. Septimus Maro, the current owner of the dagger, claims it has been in his family for over three hundred years, and asks that anyone with information come forward. The dagger is cast in silver in the shape of a serpent with ruby eyes._

Remus drank the last of his tea and put the paper aside. He left some coins on the table and hurried back to the apothecary to retrieve his potion.

***

The transformation under the effects of the Wolfsbane Potion wasn’t any more or less painful than usual, but Remus was far more aware of the metamorphosis. He could feel every bone snap and reset, could feel his skin stretch and the fur push up and out of his body. It was excruciating, but afterwards his mind was much the same. The potion kept the wolf at bay and Remus was free to curl up on his bed and sleep until the morning when the whole process was repeated in reverse.

But that night something kept the wolf awake. He paced around the room on all fours, sniffing the breeze every so often with heightened senses.

All night he padded back and forth past the window, and in the morning he went back to being Remus. His exhausted, nauseated body collapsed onto the bed and finally, with a groan, he fell into a fitful sleep.

Only to be woken hours later by the sound of breaking glass and the loud cursing of an intruder.

Remus jolted awake. He lay still, listening. From outside came the sound of a whispering voice and an unusual swishing sound. Groggy and ill, Remus staggered off the bed and grabbed his wand from the bedside table. He picked his way cautiously down the hallway, listening hard. He paused by the doorway to the main room, lifted his wand in a defensive position and quickly turned the corner into the room.

Remus lowered his wand immediately.

Sirius Black was standing in his kitchen, a pile of broken glass at his feet. The door behind him had been smashed by something heavy, and outside Remus could see something moving. It was Buckbeak, Hagrid’s hippogriff, tethered to a post and straining rigidly at the rope.

Remus moved his eyes back to Sirius, whose face had morphed into a grin.

“Wotcher, Remus,” he said, “sorry about the mess. Buckbeak hit the door with his wing when I was trying to, er⎯”

“Break in?” Remus suggested.

Sirius’ grin widened. “Sorry,” he added again. There was a thin cut on his cheek which was oozing a trail of blood down his neck; he must have been cut by a piece of the glass. Apart from that he was largely intact, though his face and robes were smudged with grime and dirt.

Before Remus could say anything more, Sirius was striding towards him. In three steps he had engulfed Remus in a fierce hug, just as Remus had embraced him in the Shrieking Shack. Slowly, Remus put his arms around Sirius’ back.

After a moment they separated. Remus stared. Sirius looked at him too, a question in his grey eyes. Then, after a tense moment, Remus gestured feebly to the oak table. “Tea?” he asked, pointing his wand at the kettle, which burst into life immediately.

Sirius furrowed his brow slightly, but he sank gratefully down onto the seat. “Thank you, Remus.”

They sat opposite each other, two steaming mugs of tea between them. Remus felt awkward, almost like a teenager again.

“You look like death, Remus, if you don’t mind me saying.” Sirius was looking at him with concern. “It was the full moon last night, wasn’t it?”

Remus nodded. “We must make a sightly pair,” he said with a tentative smile.

Sirius sloshed the last of his tea down his throat and slapped the mug back on the table with a _thunk_. “So,” he said, “has this place got a bath or am I going to have to wash in the river?”

***

Sirius emerged from the bathroom after an hour, looking remarkably more human in Remus’ spare shirt, trousers and robes. His hair was damp and clung to his skin, but he had chopped the straggly ends off, and it had lost its oily sheen. Sirius was towelling it as he entered the kitchen, flinging droplets of water all over the wall.

“That’s the first bath I’ve had in twelve years,” he said as he threw the towel over the back of a chair. “You have no idea how good it feels.”

Remus regarded him, and he couldn’t help agreeing. Sirius’ face was still gaunt and skeletal, but his cheeks were a healthy pink and all the grime had been scrubbed away. A shadow of Sirius’ previous good looks had returned to his face. “Are you hungry?” Remus asked, handing him a bowl and gesturing towards the table. “There’s soup, if you want it. And bread.”

“Starved,” said Sirius, quite sincerely. He joined Remus at the table, where he had been reading while Sirius had his bath. “You don’t want to know what I’ve been eating lately.”

“No, I don’t,” Remus agreed, spooning soup into his and Sirius’ bowls.

Sirius took the hot soup and set it on the table. His hands were scrubbed clean; he had even cut his fingernails and removed the dirt from beneath them. His fingers, too, were skeletal and pale, but they reached for the bread deftly, pulling a piece off with relish.

Remus realised he was staring and took the bread for himself. When he looked up again he caught Sirius’ eye. They stared at one another.

“So,” Sirius began. “This is where you’ve been living, since⎯it’s cosy. Suits you.”

Remus looked around, at the drab walls and the old kitchen. “Yes, it has its⎯charm. It’s no Hogwarts but it’s a place to live.”

“Could be worse,” said Sirius, shrugging. “I lived in a cave for a while last year.”

For some reason, this made Remus smile. He looked searchingly at Sirius. “How did you do it? I can’t understand it.”

“How did I escape the dementors, you mean?”

Remus nodded.

“I⎯” Sirius frowned. He looked down at his soup. “It was like I didn’t have a choice. I was so angry when I saw Peter in that photo. I kept seeing James’ face, kept imagining him⎯dying. It drove me forward. I can’t explain it.” He dunked some bread into his soup and chewed it quickly. The taste of it seemed to flick a switch in his head and he began to eat voraciously, not stopping until the bowl was entirely clean.

“And,” he continued, placing the spoon back in his empty bowl, “when I heard you were teaching at Hogwarts⎯” He met Remus’ gaze. “I wanted to see you.”

“You never tried to contact me.” Remus felt slightly ill, but he couldn’t look away from Sirius.

“I did.”

Remus blinked, surprised. “You did?”

Sirius nodded. “I went to the Shrieking Shack one night during the full moon. I assumed you would be coming there to transform. I didn’t know about the Wolfsbane Potion. You didn’t come, of course, but I realised the Shack was the perfect hiding place and, well.”

“How did you know I wouldn’t tell Dumbledore about the passageway? You must have thought that I⎯” Remus cut himself off, feeling ashamed.

Sirius shrugged.

There was a silence. Sirius nodded towards Remus’ bowl, the soup untouched. “You should eat something, Remus. You look like you need it.” His eyes were full of concern and Remus’ throat constricted painfully.

“Yes,” said Remus, nodding to clear his head. Then he added, “I’m sorry, Sirius. For, well, many things. But especially for believing you had betrayed Lily and James. I should have known you could never have done that.”

“No, Remus,” Sirius said firmly, planting his fist on the table. “It was Peter. He’s to blame. He destroyed everything.”

“But last month, at the Shrieking Shack, it was my fault he escaped.” The words had tumbled from Remus’ mouth before he could stop them.

“Stop it, Remus!” Sirius stood up, his face brimming with rage. He strode around the table and knelt beside Remus, gripping his knee with white fingers. “Don’t blame yourself; trust me, unless there’s something you can do, then there’s no point to it.”

Quite suddenly, a wave of exhaustion hit Remus in the chest and he sagged in his seat. “Oh. Sirius,” he said, words stilted as he reached a hand out to cover Sirius’ own. “You’re right, of course.” Their hands pressed together, both bony and much too pale. Sirius squeezed gently, then pushed Remus’ food towards him.

“Eat something, Remus. I’m going to get Buckbeak.”

Remus picked up his spoon and began to eat.

***

Remus agreed that Buckbeak should stay inside the house; they couldn’t risk him being spotted in the yard by a muggle, and the hippogriff, who seemed to have grown rather attached to Sirius, preferred to stay where he could keep an eye on them.

So they settled Buckbeak on one of Remus’ tattered couches and Sirius gave him a pile of what looked like roadkill to eat. The sound of crunching bones and loud chewing made Remus feel queasy so soon after the full moon, and he escaped into the yard where he sat on a rickety wooden bench and rested in the full sunlight.

After about a quarter of an hour, he felt the dip in the wood as Sirius sat on the bench beside him. Remus opened his eyes slowly and glanced over. Sirius’ hair had dried, and volume had returned to it so that it no longer lay flat and lanky against his scalp, but rolled in healthy black waves down to his shoulders. “You’re looking more human every minute,” he commented in a hoarse voice.

Sirius grinned at him. “Still look like a skeleton though, don’t I?”

Remus surveyed the hollow cheeks, the pronounced dips and angles of Sirius’ skull beneath his skin. “I’m afraid so, yes.”

“I scared the pants off Harry, you know.”

“I can imagine,” Remus said lightly. “He did think you were an axe murderer, and your corpse-like appearance probably didn’t help.”

Sirius laughed, but his smile fell. “I should have been there for him all those years. He told me he hates those people he lives with, you know; he wanted to come and live with me. No hope of that now, of course,” Sirius added, gruffly.

“You can be there for him now,” Remus assured him, trying to sound comforting.

“I’m his _guardian_ , Remus.” Sirius sighed. “ _I_ should be looking after him, not those awful muggles.”

There really wasn’t anything Remus could say; truthfully, he felt too tired to answer Sirius, though he wanted to find some way to comfort his friend. Sirius seemed to notice this and he leaned towards Remus, that look of concern back on his face.

“That potion you take⎯does it help with the transformation?”

Remus shrugged. “It lets me keep my mind. Everything else is the same. I’m no danger to anyone but⎯” He trailed off, waving a hand dismissively at his own words.

Sirius frowned. “I should have been there for you, too,” he said.

“Sirius…”

“I know we can’t⎯I know things will never be the way they were. But, Remus, it’s wonderful to see you.”

Remus looked away, into the darkening woods. “And you, Sirius,” he said softly.


	3. Dumbledore's Request

Remus must have slept longer than usual, because he woke with the sun streaming across his face. When he rolled over to check the time he saw Sirius in the doorway, already dressed.

“Morning, Remus,” he said cheerfully. “Sleep well?”

With a great effort, Remus pulled himself off the bed and stood up. “In fact, I did.” He looked at Sirius, who was grinning now. “What time is it?”

“Nearly nine; you slept through Buckbeak’s tantrum. He’s very demanding in the morning, nearly took my hand off when I was feeding him his breakfast.”

Remus found some robes in his wardrobe and began to pull them on. “And have you had breakfast?”

“Hours ago. The post came; there’s a letter from Dumbledore.”

He fumbled with his sleeve, then turned quickly to look at Sirius. “Dumbledore? Did you read it?”

“Of course not. Come on, I made you some toast.”

“You… did?” Remus blinked, but Sirius had already disappeared down the hallway. Remus hurried after him, feeling dazed.

Sure enough, a pile of toast was stacked on a plate at the kitchen table, and an embossed envelope was propped up against the sugar pot addressed to _R. J. Lupin_. It was, unmistakably, Dumbledore’s tidy cursive. Remus went to open it but Sirius stopped him with a hand on his wrist, saying, “Merlin’s beard, Moony, eat something first, will you? You still look like you’re about to keel over.”

The use of the old nickname made Remus look up. Sirius was glaring at him pointedly, as if to say _I mean it_. “It’s not for lack of toast, Sirius. I’m _fine_.”

Sirius appeared unconvinced, so Remus slapped some marmalade on a piece of toast just to make him happy. After he had taken a couple of bites, Sirius looked satisfied, so Remus decided it was safe to open the letter.

He scanned the parchment quickly, frowning as he read. When he’d finished, he passed it over to Sirius, who looked surprised.

“What do you think?” he asked, taking another bite of toast.

Sirius read slowly, brow furrowing as he progressed down the page. “Sounds odd,” he said. “ _An old acquaintance of mine was the recent victim of a robbery. A rather priceless dagger was stolen from his property in Mason’s Moor_ ,” Sirius read aloud. “ _He claims it has magical properties, and is very concerned that it be restored to his possession. I am currently tied up with a matter of some urgency and I do not have the time to investigate. I wondered if you might take it upon yourself to look into it_.”

“Does Dumbledore often ask you to follow up on his personal business?” Sirius asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Never.” Remus frowned. Was this Dumbledore’s way of consoling Remus in the wake of his recently lost position at Hogwarts? “What did he say was stolen? A dagger?”

Sirius nodded, handing the letter back to Remus. “From Mason’s Moor. That’s where stuck-up pureblood families go on holiday, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. My parents took me and Reg there once or twice. Awful place. Always raining. Not much of a holiday destination, if you ask me. But then, my parents never did.”

Remus looked at Sirius sharply, but his face didn’t look bitter, just pensive. He scanned the letter again. “Hold on,” he said quickly, “I remember reading about this in the paper.” He cast his mind back to Diagon Alley. “The Daily Prophet reported this. They said the dagger was encrusted with jewels, but they didn’t mention that it had any magical properties.”

“Hm.” Sirius looked thoughtful. “Who did Dumbledore say the dagger belonged to?”

“He didn’t. But the Daily Prophet did⎯it was someone called Septimus Maro.”

Sirius’ eyes flashed. “Maro?”

“You know him?” Remus said, surprised.

“Yes. You should too. We went to Hogwarts with his son, Balthazar.” The expression on Sirius’ face had darkened. “He was a couple of years ahead of us. Slytherin, naturally.”

This was news to Remus. “I don’t recall him at all.”

“He became a Death Eater as soon as he got the chance, but he died in the First Wizarding War. Got what he deserved.”

“But his father’s still around⎯”

“Hoarding dangerous dark artefacts, I’ll bet. That dagger’s probably cursed.”

Remus frowned. “Do you think that’s what Dumbedore’s worried about? But why not go to the Ministry?”

Sirius shrugged. “Ah, yes, the Ministry. One can always count on the Ministry of Magic, can’t they?”

Remus didn’t miss the sarcasm in Sirius’ voice. “I take your point.”

Leaning in towards Remus, his elbows on the table, Sirius said, “I think we should check it out.”

“We?” Remus lifted an eyebrow. “Sirius, you’re a wanted criminal. Every muggle, witch and wizard on this side of the channel knows your face.” He set the letter down next to his plate, his mind made up. “No. I’ll go. Alone. You should stay here.”

Sirius snarled; he stood up quickly, pushing the large oak bench back a few inches with a loud scraping sound. “Don’t treat me like a child, Remus. I know the village⎯and I can turn into a great big bloody dog! No one will recognise me.”

Remus stared. Sirius’ body was tensed, his mouth drawn into a thin line, his brows furrowed in anger. He had always been prone to unexpected outbursts of emotion, and twelve years in Azkaban hadn’t mellowed his spirit, it seemed. He looked, for a fleeting moment, just like his old self, and Remus felt his resolve crumbling.

“I’m sorry, Sirius,” he said. “You’re right. It’s your decision.”

***

Mason’s Moor was indeed lacking much in the way of cheer. Medieval houses lined the streets, criss-crossed with dark wooden panels. They seemed to loom overhead, almost blocking out the light from the sky above. Remus strode down a quiet cobbled street, Padfoot loping along beside him, looking more beast than canine. They passed a number of dingy shops selling antiques and collectibles. To any muggle these shops would look quite normal, but Remus was sure they were selling much more sinister things than bronze candle holders and rickety wooden chairs.

Sirius hurried them across a small, empty square and down a grimy alleyway. They emerged on a wide street with more medieval houses on either side. Assuredly, Padfoot trotted over to one and sat down, looking pointedly at Remus and then up at the house.

“This one, is it?” Remus asked, peering up at the closed shutters. It looked uninhabited, but so did all the other houses on the street. “Well,” he took a deep breath. “Let’s go then.”

They stood on the narrow landing, Sirius pressing against Remus legs’, canine body thrumming with energy. Remus knocked three times on the wood and stepped back to wait.

After a few minutes of utter silence, the door slid open a crack. “Who’s there?” a rasping voice asked. The pale, wrinkled face of an elderly man was just visible through the crack. He saw Remus, then his eyes travelled to Padfoot, who he watched carefully for a minute, before flicking his gaze back to Remus.

“Dumbledore sent me,” explained Remus. “About the dagger.”

The old man’s eyes narrowed. “Did he now? Well, you can tell him that I don’t need his _help_. Now clear off!” The door slammed in Remus’ face with a puff of musty air.

Next to him, Padfoot whined in disbelief.

***

“Well, that was a roaring success.” Sirius shook himself as they apparated into Remus’ yard, still smelling faintly of dog. “Do you think that’s what Dumbledore expected?”

Remus let go of Sirius’ elbow and led them inside, pointing his wand at the kettle as they entered. Buckbeak, who they had left in the living room, looked up from where he had been ripping a cushion with his enormous beak. He squawked and gave them a reproachful look.

“I’ve no idea. I’m beginning to question Dumbledore’s motives,” Remus said lightly, as he poured two mugs of tea.

“That man works in mysterious ways,” agreed Sirius, sloshing half the tea down in one gulp. “But he wouldn’t have asked you to investigate unless there was some reason for it.”

Remus grimaced. “What’s so special about this dagger, I wonder?”

“It turns anyone who owns it into a crotchety old man,” said Sirius, throwing another pile of animal carcasses to Buckbeak. Remus nearly choked on his tea and Sirius helpfully whacked him on the back. “Careful, Moony,” he said, grinning.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” asked Remus when he had finished spluttering.

Sirius shrugged. “It’s good to be _doing_ something, that’s all.”

Remus knew how he felt. “Frankly, I’m not sure how we can proceed from here,” he said, furrowing his brow. “We don’t even know what this dagger can do. And Maro won’t speak to us.”

There was a brief silence, in which Sirius drained the very last drops of his tea. He swilled the leaves around in the bottom as if preparing to read the future. Then he caught Remus’ gaze, his eyes glinting. “I have an idea,’ he said.

***

“Do you really think this will work, Pads?” Remus asked, casting a doubtful look along the grimy street of Knockturn Alley.

A large, wet snout pushed into Remus’ palm and nipped lightly at his skin, as if to say _of course it will_.

There were a few witches and wizards about, most dressed in black, hooded robes and carrying on their business in ways that Remus found very suspicious. They all cast shady glances at Remus and the enormous dog at his side, but none seemed to think anything was amiss. A raggedly dressed man with grey hair and faded scars, accompanied by a frightening beast, was hardly unusual in a place such as this. Together they made their way over the cobblestones, pausing to allow a rotund witch pass. She stared at them, beady eyes narrowing into slits.

Remus fought back the urge to panic and continued on, Sirius right beside him.

They stopped at the entrance to Borgin and Burkes and Remus peered at the display of objects within. He’d heard, of course, that Borgin and Burkes traded in objects of dark magic, but he didn’t expect this fact to be so obviously displayed in the window.

“Why doesn’t the Ministry just raid this place?” He asked under his breath so only Sirius would hear.

Padfoot huffed impatiently.

“All right,” said Remus, standing up a little straighter and checking his wand was still in his back pocket.

A bell gave a little tinkle as they marched into the shop, and a few moments later a stooped man came into view. He sneered when he saw them, presumably taking in the shabby appearance of Remus’ robes. When he saw Padfoot he hissed and made a shooing motion with his hands. “No animals allowed. Out, out!”

Padfoot began to growl menacingly, but Remus placed a hand on the back of his neck to stop him. “Mr Borgin, I presume,” Remus said, as coldly as he could.

“Put the beast outside,” Mr Borgin ordered. “I do not do business with animals.” Was it just his paranoia, or did the shopkeeper’s eyes flicker to Remus as he said this?

“Very well.” Remus looked down at Sirius and pointed to the door. “Outside, then,” he commanded. Padfoot growled again, but Remus nudged him with his knee and he grudgingly acquiesced, sloping out the door with a backwards glance at Mr Borgin.

Sirius sat down right outside the door, his eyes locked on the two of them. Mr Borgin tutted in irritation. “You’ll drive away all my business,” he said, giving Remus a scathing look.

Fighting back the urge to apologise, Remus tried to look haughty and cold. “Then I shall be brief. I have an offer for you, Mr Borgin.”

Mr Borgin’s left eye twitched. “You are not _buying_ then?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then I am not interested. Goodbye.” He turned towards the doorway behind the counter but Remus stopped him.

“I am selling a dagger. A very _precious_ dagger. I presume you know the one of which I speak?”

Mr Borgin turned again to look at Remus, a glimmer of greed in his oily face. “You claim to have in your possession the Serpenine Dagger?” He laughed, a cold, derisive cackle, but leaned forward eagerly all the same. “Let me see it, then.”

Remus took a deep, quiet breath. “You think I’m simply carrying it around with me?”

“You came to sell, did you not?” Mr Borgin sighed irritably. “You should know, stranger, that I do not purchase items I have not _seen_.” He cast another withering glance at Remus’ robes. “No doubt you are in dire need of some galleons, but I know a lost cause when I see one. If you really do have the dagger, and I sincerely doubt you do, then I suggest you return tomorrow with it in _hand_. Otherwise, I have no business with you. Good day.” And with those words he turned on his heel and marched away, disappearing into the next room.

Remus hurried outside to meet Sirius, who was glaring daggers through the glass door. He leapt to his feet when Remus exited the store and wagged his tail expectantly.

“Well, he hasn’t got the dagger,” Remus said firmly. “Not that he believed I did either, eventually.”

They strode back up the cobblestones and emerged in Diagon Alley where the sun was shining brightly. Remus continued to speak in a low voice to Sirius. “He did tell me the name of the dagger though, which is something. The Serpenine Dagger.” Remus frowned. “Strange name. When he said it I remembered that the Daily Prophet described it having a serpent’s shape. But he definitely said _Serpenine_ , not _Serpentine_.”

Padfoot whined, clearly impatient to speak. “You can’t exactly transform here, Sirius,” said Remus sternly. “Let’s go home. There’s nothing else we can do here.”

***

“So what did he say?” asked Sirius as soon as they were back in Remus’ house.

Remus explained what had happened in the store after Sirius left. “It’s basically what we expected,” he said, shrugging. “But at least now we know that _he_ doesn’t have it.”

“And that it has a name,” said Sirius.

“Right.”

Sirius sighed. “Unfortunately, we’re still no closer to finding out who _does_ have it.”

“Does that name mean anything to you? Serpenine?”

Sirius thought for a minute, then shook his head. “No. Are you sure he didn’t just say it wrong?”

“Certain,” said Remus. “He’s clearly heard of it and knows its value. He may know its properties too.”

“Not likely to tell us though, is he?” said Sirius gloomily.

“He may not have to. We know what its called now; we can look it up.”

Sirius looked at Remus, a knowing glint in his eye. “This is the part where you get the books out, isn’t it?”

Remus grinned. “I’ll write a letter to Madame Pince. We can loan the books we need from Hogwarts.”

“Excellent,” said Sirius drily.


	4. Moony and Padfoot

A few days later an exhausted owl dropped a large package on Remus’ table. It contained all the books he had asked for: _Extraordinary Heirlooms of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries_ ; _From Almanac to Ziggurat: an A to Z of Magical Objects_ ; _A History of Magic in 500 Artefacts_ ; and _A Complete Guide to Ornamental Weaponry_.

“It must be in one of these,” Remus said, spreading the books out on the table. They were all very large, with small, cramped printing. Sirius let out a resentful groan, reaching out and pulling _A History of Magic in 500 Artefacts_ towards him. He flipped it open and began to scan the first page.

Hours later they were still poring over the tomes; Remus’ head felt heavy and his eyes were stinging from concentrating on the tiny letters. He hadn’t found anything of significance, and nor had Sirius.

In fact, Sirius had draped himself over the armchair in the corner and fallen asleep over his book, his head drooping over the armrest at an awkward angle.

Quietly, Remus closed his book and shuffled over to Sirius. He eased the dusty volume out from between limp fingers and covered Sirius with a blanket. Looking at him now, Remus realised how frail Sirius seemed, how his bones jutted out from under his papery skin. He looked much better than he had when he’d first arrived at Remus’ house, but he was still unhealthily thin.

Something in Remus’ gut twisted painfully; he saw Sirius as had been in his youth, handsome and mischievous, infuriatingly so. He had been kind, and endlessly loyal.

Still was, Remus reminded himself. Always had been.

Slowly, agonisingly, Remus pressed his hand aganst Sirius’ gaunt cheek. He could feel the puff of Sirius’ breath on his palm, warm and gentle. It made him shiver and he pulled his fingers away. He watched Sirius for a few more seconds, a thrum of longing in his belly.

“Goodnight, old friend,” he sighed into the darkness of the room.

***

It was by chance that Remus found information on the Serpenine Dagger; they had been searching for days with no luck, systematically combing through the books from beginning to end. Finally, Remus opened _Extraordinary Heirlooms of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries_ on a haphazardly chosen page and was shocked to see the dagger’s name jump out at him.

“Sirius!” he called. “I’ve found something!”

In an instant Sirius was leaning over him, one hand on Remus’ shoulder. “What is it?”

“Look.” Remus gestured to the entry and read aloud:

_“The Serpenine Dagger_  
_This magical artefact was forged in the seventeenth century at the request of Rabella Robin. Cast in the shape of a serpent-lion hybrid creature, it symbolises the lineage of its creator, a descendant of Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin ⎯ two of the four founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Since Robin’s death in 1678, the dagger has been passed down through her family and remains in their possession to this day. The dagger is very valuable, cast in silver and encrusted with both rubies and emeralds_.”

Beside the entry was a rough drawing of the dagger. It looked very odd; the creature had the head of a lion and the coiling tail of a snake, with shining jewels for eyes.

“Well, that explains the name,” said Sirius, who was rereading the entry. “Serpenine. Serpent and leonine. Not very creative, really.” He pushed his hair back from his face, looking pensive. “It doesn’t sound very likely⎯a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, I mean.”

“I don’t see why not.” Remus was feeling thoughtful. “Hogwarts wasn’t always so divided by its houses.”

“Well, in any case,” Sirius sank onto the bench beside Remus, “we still don’t know what it does.”

Indeed, Remus had to concede that the entry they had spent so long trying to find was interesting, but hardly useful.

“I’ll write to Dumbledore,” Remus said. “I’ll tell him what we’ve discovered and ask if he has any ideas.” He ran a hand through his greying hair. “It’s the best I can think of right now.”

***

Dumbledore’s response arrived a week or so later. Remus tore open the envelope and read the letter aloud to Sirius, who was tidying Buckbeak’s couch.

_Dear Remus,_

_I congratulate you on your recent discoveries; I confess I did not know the provenance of the dagger, although Mr Maro assured me of its importance. Perhaps you might try speaking to him once more, I am certain he knows something about the dagger’s magical properties. Mr Maro will cooperate with you; he just needs a little persuading._

_Thank you for looking into this matter for me, Remus. I am much in your debt._

_Yours,_  
_Albus Dumbledore._

“Doesn’t give you much to go on, old Dumbledore,” said Sirius gruffly, brushing bits of splintered bone into his hand.

Remus had to agree. “At least he’s given us something to do,” he said with a wry smile.

***

But their plans to visit Septimus Maro for the second time were postponed by the arrival of the full moon. Remus hurried off to Diagon Alley next day to pick up his usual supply of potion, and returned feeling the familiar fatigue in his muscles that always flared up before the transformation.

Sirius kept shooting him concerned glances, but Remus waved them off. He slept fitfully that night and woke early. Padding out of bed in the dim light of dawn, Remus perched himself in the armchair and picked up one of the books they had been using to research the dagger.

An hour later Sirius emerged looking worried.

“There you are, Remus,” he said, spotting him in the chair. “I went to check on you but you weren’t in your room.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” said Remus, yawning as he dropped the book onto the floor beside him. When he saw Sirius’ anxious face he continued, “I’m fine, Sirius, honestly. This is just par for the course.”

Sirius didn’t relax. “I’d forgotten,” he said quietly. “What it was like for you.”

Remus shook his head, smiling sadly. “It’s all right.” He tried to look reassuring. “I’m used to it.” This wasn’t exactly true; few could get used to the feeling of their bones breaking and reforming every month, but Remus had dealt with it alone for twelve years, after all.

“At least I’ll be with you this time,” Sirius said firmly, seeming to read Remus’ mind. “You won’t be alone tonight.”

A warm feeling pooled deep inside Remus’ belly, and he smiled.

For the remainder of the day, Remus dozed on the couch, occasionally flicking through a few pages of _A Complete Guide to Ornamental Weaponry_. Sirius watched him carefully, but for the most part let him rest quietly, for which Remus was immensely grateful.

In the evening Remus drank the Wolfsbane potion and retreated to his bedroom. Sirius followed, leaning against the doorframe while Remus sat heavily down on the bed.

“Sirius, I’m not sure ⎯”

“I’m staying with you, Remus,” said Sirius, a steely determination in his voice. “You’re not dangerous, you said it yourself. And besides, I’ll be Padfoot.”

Remus nodded, lacking the strength to argue. “Shut the door then, and use my wand to lock it.” He passed Sirius his wand, and the door was sealed with a quick charm.

“Ugh,” said Remus, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands. He felt Sirius sit beside him and press a warm hand between his shoulder blades.

“All right, Remus?” asked Sirius.

Remus didn’t respond. He felt his skin beginning to prickle and a burning as his muscles swelled. “Padfoot. Now,” he gasped, doubling over onto the floor as moonlight flooded into the room.

The wolf broke free and howled, but Remus regained control and heaved his lupine form onto the bed. He felt Padfoot standing close, quivering, and Remus⎯Moony⎯head-butted his shoulder gently so he would know it was Remus who was in control.

Padfoot whined with relief and settled down next to Moony, their canine limbs tangling together in a familiar, instinctive way. Remus’ thoughts slowed and he felt his limbs relax, his mind drifting off into a hazy, wolfish dream.

***

The following morning Remus regained consciousness with a reluctant groan. There was a throbbing in his head like the galloping of hundreds of horses, and his entire body felt heavy and bruised. He cracked his eyes open and found he had collapsed onto the floor during the transformation; his head must have hit the wooden boards when he fell, which explained the throbbing headache.

Someone⎯Sirius⎯was kneeling beside him, pressing a cool hand against his forehead. He was saying something but Remus ignored him, concentrating on breathing instead. Then hands under his arms were levering him onto the bed, sitting him upright against the headboard.

Sirius pushed a porcelain bowl into his hands, into which Remus promptly deposited the contents of his stomach. He retched a couple more times, felt the bowl disappear from his grip, and passed out.

***

He woke again mid morning. The watery grey light from outside was trying its best to find a way into Remus’ bedroom, but the heavy curtains were drawn, keeping most of it at bay. Remus was curled on his side; his head was still pounding, though the pain was less.

Carefully, he manoeuvred himself into a sitting position and rested his back against the wall. Swallowing back a wave of nausea, he allowed himself to sit still and breathe for a few moments. With a tentative hand he touched the back of his head, wincing when he felt a tender bruise under his fingers.

Sirius had put a large glass of water on the bedside table, and Remus drank greedily, downing the entire glass.

“You all right?” a voice asked from across the room. Sirius was standing under the doorframe, a steaming mug in his hands.

Remus began to speak but his voice croaked and no words came out. He cleared his throat. “Fine,” he responded, running a hand over his face. “How long was I out?”

“You woke at six after your transformed, but you fell off the bed and hit your head. Then you passed out again for a couple of hours.” Sirius sat down on the edge of the bed and took in Remus’ appearance.

“I don’t usually do that, you know,” Remus said “⎯fall off the bed, I mean.”

Sirius frowned and presented the steaming mug to Remus. “Drink this,” he said. “It’ll help.” Remus took it and gave it a sniff. Ginger.

Now that his hands were free, Sirius leaned forward and gently examined the bruise on Remus’ skull with deft fingers. Their faces were suddenly very close, and Remus could see that the dark circles under Sirius’ eyes had all but disappeared, and the sharp lines of his jaw were much less visible than they had been a month ago. He breathed in and inhaled the old, familiar scent of Sirius’ skin; it sent a surge of nostalgia through his body, so strong he shut his eyes and sat very, very still, letting the feeling wash over him. Sirius pulled back slightly, his hand lingering on Remus’ shoulder.

“You all right?” he asked for the second time.

Remus nodded. He felt Sirius’ forehead rest against his own for a beat, warm breath on his face. Then Sirius stood up and a wave of cool air rushed in to replace the space where his body had been.

Remus slumped against the wall, stoic. “You should drink that tea,” Sirius told him firmly, and strode out of the room, leaving Remus alone with an ache in his chest that had nothing to do with full moon. He took a sip of the ginger and instantly felt better.


	5. Septimus Maro

It was a couple of days before Remus felt he was back to his usual strength. Sirius was clearly relieved to see that he had recovered from his transformation, though he still hesitated when Remus suggested they make a second trip to Mason’s Moor.

In the end he was easily persuaded⎯motivated, perhaps, by his own feelings of restlessness.

So on a humid day in August they found themselves once again on the outer edges of Mason’s Moor; in the distance clouds rumbled ominously, echoing with the sound of advancing thunder.

Sirius morphed into Padfoot at once, his shaggy, black fur brushing against Remus’ leg. He bounded off ahead, sniffing at the thickening, pre-tempest air.

They hurried through the town, passing nobody. Though the air was warm, the threat of a thunderstorm had driven everyone into their homes. Like last time they crossed a tidy square and ducked down a dark alleyway, emerging onto the street where Septimus Maro lived.

Outside his house, Remus breathed deeply the humid air, approached the front door, and knocked.

As before, an old man answered, peeking through a tiny crack between door and wall. “What do you want?” he asked, seeming not to recognise Remus.

“I’ve come about the dagger,” Remus said in an assertive voice. “Please let me speak to you.”

Maro made an irritated sound. “I told you I don’t need any help. Leave an old man in peace!” He went to slam the door but Remus stopped it from closing with his fist.

“Mr Maro!” he said loudly. “If you wish to recover your dagger, then I suggest you let me inside. I know its provenance, and I believe you may have further knowledge of its properties. If we work together⎯” Remus met Maro’s suspicious gaze directly “⎯then I believe we will get to the bottom of this matter. But you must let me speak to you.”

Mr Maro’s face remained hard and untrusting, but his eyes had widened slightly at Remus’ outburst. Finally, after a minute of thought, Maro nodded “Very well,” he said, quietly. “I shall speak to you, but only for a short while.” He ushered Remus inside, and though he glared at Padfoot, he backed away when he heard him growling.

“You would bring an omen of death into my home?” he asked Remus, shooting him a bad-tempered look.

Remus smiled, nonchalant. “He is a dog, Mr Maro. A simple dog.” He glanced at Sirius quickly, apology in his eyes. “Some wizards have their owls; I have Padfoot here.”

With a final, grudging mutter, Maro led them down a narrow hallway into a sitting room. Four chairs were set around an ornate wooden table. Maro gestured for Remus to sit and took the chair opposite him.

“Thank you,” said Remus graciously. “I am Remus Lupin. Dumbledore has asked me to look into the theft of your dagger, as he believes it is a matter of some importance.

“Unfortunately,” Remus continued, “a lack of information regarding the dagger has made the situation rather difficult. We⎯I⎯” Remus corrected himself, glancing quickly at Padfoot, who was lying with his head between his paws, “now know that it was created for a Rabella Robin, who was a descendent of Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin. It was named the Serpenine Dagger in light of its unusual shape. However, nothing I have read has shed any light on its _properties_.”

He looked meaningfully at Maro. “And this is where you come in, Mr Maro. The answer to this question will surely help us understand who may have stolen it. If you know anything⎯” he spoke with insistence now, staring at the stooped man opposite him, “⎯then I urge you tell me what you know.”

There was a silence, broken by the first splatters of rain on the window. Then Maro spoke in a gruff voice. “I have had the dagger of Rabella Robin in my possession since the passing of my mother, forty years ago. Since then I have kept it locked in a sealed cabinet in my bedroom. Until a few weeks ago, it had not been touched by anyone except myself.” He drew in a rattling breath, and Remus took a moment to appreciate how old Maro was, how frail. “That morning I got out of bed and looked over at the cabinet, as I do every morning. The dagger was gone, but nothing else was out of place; I had heard nothing during the night.” He sighed, angered by the memory. “I don’t know who stole it, or how.”

“So you wrote to Dumbledore⎯” prompted Remus.

But Maro looked up at him sharply. “I did _not_ write to Dumbledore. That man is an insufferable busybody who has no place meddling in the affairs of others!” He steadied himself with another deep breath. “I knew there was nothing to be done. So I let it be.”

Remus blinked, surprised. “But you told him it had magical properties,” he said, “and that you were very concerned to get it back.”

“Did I?” Maro growled. “I don’t recall having such a conversation. Dumbledore knew about the dagger before it disappeared and asked me about the theft, but I told him I wanted to be left alone!”

This was curious indeed, but Remus pressed further. “But it _does_ have magical properties? Dumbledore believes⎯”

“He is a fool, as anyone is who believes in its powers,” said Maro, turning his gaze away from Remus. “The dagger has never shown any sign of magic; it is a beautiful object of much value, but quite useless, I assure you.”

“But whoever stole it⎯”

“Likely heard a fanciful myth, nothing more.”

Remus leaned forward, catching Maro’s eye. “ _Tell me_ ,” he urged.

At first, Remus thought Maro was going to refuse, but then he heard his voice, barely more than a whisper, pass through the air between them: “like I said, the dagger is quite ordinary. But in the right hands⎯” he paused to moisten his lips “⎯they say it can bridge the gap between two mortal enemies.”

Remus felt dazed as they left Maro’s home, but Padfoot was whining in agitation, urging Remus to hurry as they marched through the streets, thunder rolling above them and rain lashing against their faces.

They reached the secluded spot where they had first arrived and Sirius transformed at once, his human body lunging forward to grasp Remus’ shoulders as soon as he was on his feet.

“ _Harry_ ,” Sirius said, face pale and filled with terror, “and⎯”

Remus’ blood turned to ice in his veins.

***

Sirius was incoherent with worry and fury. “It’s obvious who stole the dagger,” he said in a strained voice when Remus had finally persuaded him to sit down for a minute. “It was Peter. Had to have been.” He yanked hard on his hair, eyes almost crazed. “He got into Maro’s house as a rat and stole it⎯it must have been him.”

“I’m going to kill him,” he added vehemently. “We have to _do_ something, Remus.”

Quietly, Remus agreed. But what could they do? He said as much and Sirius groaned in frustration, leaping up to pace furiously around the room, one hand pressed to his forehead.

“Why, though?” said Remus slowly, speaking his thoughts aloud. “What does it mean⎯ _bridge the gap between two mortal enemies_ ⎯?”

Sirius paused in his pacing to look at Remus like he was a madman. “Isn’t it obvious? _Peter is going to use the dagger to hurt Harry_!”

“But, Sirius, there must be more to it than that⎯”

“ _It doesn’t matter_!” Sirius shouted. “If he touches even one _hair_ on Harry’s head, I’m going to⎯”

“Sirius, _think_ for a second. This isn’t just about Harry. Voldemort’s involved somehow. Peter needs the dagger for something to do with Voldemort.” Remus wracked his brains, and a memory came to him suddenly.

“Yes,” he said, “do you remember Castor?”

“That old centaur that used to hang about in the forest when we were kids? What has _he_ got to do with this, Remus?” Sirius patience was wearing very thin.

“That night at Hogwarts. I woke up in the forest and I met Castor. He said something about the clashing of the lion and the serpent. He must have meant⎯”

“Harry and Voldemort,” Sirius concluded, collapsing suddenly into the seat again. He put his face in his hands. “I can’t stand this, Remus. I can’t bloody stand it.”

Remus made an abortive movement towards Sirius, then he said quickly, “I’ll write to Dumbledore,” and hurried away, his stomach lurching horribly.

***

In the days that followed it was all Remus could do to get Sirius to keep some semblance of level-headedness. He stormed about the place like a dark cloud about to unleash a torrential downpour on the world, and he would roam the forest for hours as Padfoot, returning dishevelled and drained, as if he had spent the entire time chasing woodland creatures to the point of exhaustion.

Remus, for the most part, steered clear, preferring to spend what moments he could researching the dagger. But he could find nothing, his usually so faithful books proving to be a disappointment.

Fortunately, Dumbledore’s response came swiftly, though his message confirmed their fears.

_Dear Remus,_

_I am most alarmed by what you have learned, and regret terribly that I did not look into this matter myself. You are right to fear V’s part in all this, and we must consider the likely possibility that the dagger contains dark magic that may be of use to him somehow._

_Remus, I can assure you that everything is being done to keep Harry safe. I must insist that you do not attempt to go after P. Whatever you do, do not seek him out. I am trusting you to treat this matter quite seriously._

_Yours,_   
_Albus Dumbledore_

Sirius laughed bitterly when he’d read the letter. “He knows I’m with you,” he said, “doesn’t miss a trick, that man.”

It was true; Dumbledore’s parting words had clearly been meant for Sirius, who, Remus reasoned, was indeed champing at the proverbial bit to chase after Peter and bring him to justice.

“Dumbledore’s right,” he told Sirius, “we can’t go after Peter. Even if we did, we’d never find him.”

Sirius growled disconsolately. “That doesn’t seem like a very good reason not to try.”

“Sirius.” Remus gave him a sharp look. “Whatever you’re thinking⎯”

“I’m not thinking anything, Remus!” There was bitterness in Sirius’ voice, but he didn’t sound angry, just resigned and frustrated. “But I can barely sit still here. It’s maddening. I feel⎯” he broke off, deflating abruptly. His head fell into trembling hands.

This was so like Sirius, Remus thought. All action and intensity until there was nothing to be done, then raw inarticulate emotion that tumbled out of his mouth in stilted syllables. He was just like a cornered animal, unsure whether to flee or fight. Or whether to collapse inwardly and reject reality altogether.

Remus shuffled closer to Sirius; he placed a hand against his hunched back and let it lie there, feeling the stiffness of his body, the tension thrumming through his muscles. He couldn’t predict Sirius’ reaction, wasn’t sure if this was the right gesture at the right time. Sirius was statuesque, then his shoulders shook and he seemed to press back into Remus’ palm, a stuttering sigh escaping from parted lips.

Now Remus knew what to do; without thinking, he drew Sirius into his arms, letting his fingers seek out familiar territory. One hand tangled in the hair at Sirius’ nape, the other rested in the small of his back. Sirius was heavy against him, his face pressed into the groove where Remus’ neck meets his shoulder.

“Ugh,” Sirius mumbled, then inhaled deeply. Remus could feel a light tickle as Sirius’ eyelashes brushed against his collarbone. His hands had come to rest on Remus’ back, gripping the loose fabric of his robes. He exhaled, body losing some of its rigidity. “You were always so good at this,” he said into Remus’ neck. “Do you know that?”

Remus smiled into Sirius’ tousled hair. “I do try.”

“Mm.” Sirius squeezed Remus lightly, then he pulled back so they could rest their foreheads together. “With everything’s that’s been happening,” he said, avoiding Remus’ eye. “I haven’t said⎯well, I’ve been meaning to ask⎯” He laughed suddenly, an anguished chuckle, and fell silent.

Remus took Sirius’ face in his hands, thumbs sweeping the line of his jaw. He felt warm all over. “It’s all right, Pads,” he said. “There’s time enough. We’ll figure it out.”

Sirius nodded, once, then extracted himself slowly from Remus’ embrace. His hand lingered on Remus’ shoulder for a moment more as their eyes met. Despite himself, Sirius grinned, though it was lopsided and strained. “Yes,” he agreed. “We’ll figure it out. Together?”

“I think so,” said Remus.

***

The days dragged by: hot mornings and sticky afternoons, followed by slightly less hot but no less sticky nights. Despite the heat, Remus found himself drawn to Sirius, his hands lingering on his shoulders, or brushing against his back as they passed in the kitchen. Sirius, too, would occasionally thumb Remus’ jaw absentmindedly, or stand closer than was, perhaps, necessary.

It was, Remus thought, almost worse than before, this not-so-unfamiliar thing they now shared. But, he conceded, Sirius’ thoughts were still fixed on Harry’s safety, on Peter’s enduring betrayal; little could he reserve for Remus, except fleeting traces of affection. And Remus, too, was preoccupied with thoughts of Harry, of the shadow of Voldemort hanging above them, and, worst of all, a nagging sense of _inutile_.

So they went about their lives amidst growing anxiety, Remus reading books until his head ached, and Sirius tending to Buckbeak, catching small woodland creatures for him to eat.

After much haranguing from Sirius, Remus subscribed to the Daily Prophet, and Sirius would spend an hour each morning devouring the paper from cover to cover, looking, Remus supposed, for some clue as to Peter’s whereabouts.

Sirius also wrote to Harry, who wrote back with many complaints about his muggle family. He would be going to the Quidditch World Cup this year with the Weasleys, and his excitement was almost palpable.

Harry’s letters had a certain calming influence on Sirius, who would sit at the table grinning broadly every time one arrived. Remus could be close to him in these moments, a hand between Sirius’ shoulder blades while he read Harry’s letter aloud. Sirius would always write back immediately, usually with some (uncharacteristically) prudent advice on how exactly Harry should deal with his ham-fisted cousin.

For the most part Sirius seemed to have grounded himself a little better, and no longer did he exude waves of unresolved frustration. An undercurrent of pent-up energy still lingered at his edges, and there were days when he was flightier than usual, when he would crumple the newspaper in disgust and flee the room for the comforting stillness of the forest. But those days were fewer, and there were other days, when Sirius would actually sing jauntily under his breath while hurling gnomes into the trees, and when he would touch Remus with purpose, dragging fingers down his back, or slinging an arm around his shoulders.


	6. Blood and Silver

Time trickled by like this, until the World Cup was only a day away. Sirius had let slip that he’d half planned to sneak off to the site to keep an eye on Harry, but Remus had persuaded him that it was a dreadful idea. Or, at least, he hoped he had persuaded him. Sirius had that hard line in his jaw that meant _I know you’re right, but I resent you for it_ , so Remus couldn’t be sure that Sirius wouldn’t suddenly do something reckless.

But the day passed and Sirius made no move to leave; he had no way of getting to the site without Remus anyway, as he hadn’t got a wand with which to apparate.

That night the sky was cloudless, and Remus could feel the pull of the waxing moon like the call of a Siren. He slept uneasily and woke later than usual, sunlight already pouring through his window. Instinctively, he knew something was off; the house was too quiet, the air too still.

Heart beating rather fast, he got out of bed and headed for the kitchen. Sirius wasn’t there to greet him, and Buckbeak, who was usually snoozing on the couch at this time of the morning, was gone, the cushions where he liked to sleep skewed and almost falling off, as if the hippogriff had leapt off in a hurry.

Forcing himself not to panic, Remus hurried to Sirius’ room and peered around the door. The bed was made but the room was empty.

Remus cursed and sprinted back to the kitchen, hoping that Sirius had simply taken Buckbeak for a little exercise in the woods. He reached the table and glanced down to where Sirius had spread the Daily Prophet earlier, blood draining from his face.

There, on the left-hand side column of the page, was a short article that made Remus’ blood run cold.

_Transforming Rodent Mystifies Muggles_  
_A group of muggles claim they were witness to the remarkable transformation of a man into a rodent on the busy main street of Foxton yesterday evening. At least twelve muggles were witness to the event and Ministry of Magic officials have been dispatched to perform memory charms and spread a cover-up story. “This was likely just some foolish prank gone wrong,” said the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge. “We are looking into the matter but the man in question has disappeared.” Other Ministry officials say that there are no rodent animagi on their database at this current time, and agree that the events of yesterday evening were likely a prank of some sort. The Ministry wishes to advise all witches and wizards that the practising of magic in front of muggles is strictly forbidden under the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy._

Remus cursed violently, ran a shaky hand through his hair and, after a second’s thought, made up his mind.

He pulled his wand out of his pocket and disapparated.

***

The streets of Foxton were almost deserted as Remus jogged into the town centre. A few school-aged kids loitered by shop windows and sat eating ice creams on wooden benches in the sun, but the oppressive heat made everyone sluggish and idle. Remus came to the place where Peter had been spotted⎯an open area in the centre of town where park benches had been set up around a gurgling fountain. One man, whom Remus recognised as a Ministry official, stared suspiciously as he skidded to a halt by the fountain and looked around wildly for any sign of Sirius.

It was obvious that Peter had allowed himself to be seen deliberately, perhaps with every intention of luring Sirius into a trap. It was just like Sirius to go blundering in without a second thought, without even a word to him!

Fuming, heart in his throat, Remus scanned the shopfronts around him. They all looked like non-descript muggle stores⎯mostly cafés and restaurants where people were drinking iced chocolates and lemonade to stave off the summer heat. One shop caught his eye, a dingy-looking place with tinted windows, which the muggles seemed to hurry past without a glance. A wooden sign hung limply on a post outside, the words faded but just legible:

_Snicket’s Framing_

It wasn’t much to go on, but Remus hadn’t any other ideas. He reached for his wand in the pocket of his robes and wrapped his fingers around it, then hurried in the direction of the shop.

Up close it was even more sinister looking; dark curtains shielded the interior from view and a decaying pair of bat wings hung from a string above the door. Remus didn’t allow himself time to reconsider; he wrenched the door open, lifted his wand in front of his face, and entered the shadowy room.

All at once, something hit him in the back of the legs and he stumbled. A bright orange disc of light flew towards him and struck him in the abdomen. Pain exploded across his stomach and ribs and he crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath.

He heard someone bellow his name, but the voice seemed to be coming from very far away. With a great effort, he opened his eyes. The room was too dark to see clearly, but someone was looming over him, their boots in front of his face. Remus couldn’t stand, but he threw out his arm and punched the soft flesh just below the knee. He heard a wheezy voice say, “ _agh_!” and then a violent _oof_ as they crashed into something heavy behind them.

A second later a boot connected with Remus’ skull and everything went dark.

***

Remus woke with a ringing in his ears; he could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth, and the back of his head ached from the blow it had received. He was lying on a wooden floor in a small, poorly lit room which housed nothing except an old picture frame lying on its side, its glass removed. His hands were tethered behind his back with thick rope that chafed his wrists as he struggled to sit up. The skin over his ribs twinged as he pulled himself towards the wall, but the pain in his head was worse and he scrunched his eyes shut, panting through a sudden wave of nausea.

“Remus?” a hoarse voice whispered. Sirius was hunched in one corner of the room, hands tied behind his back as Remus’ were. His face was badly bruised and he was sporting a deep red cut on his upper lip, but Remus felt an immense flood of relief wash over him at the sight of Sirius in one piece. “You all right?”

“Fine,” said Remus, grimacing. “Considering.” He stared across at Sirius, who had a dark, bitter look on his face. “Where⎯”

“This is my fault,” said Sirius morosely. He looked up at Remus. “I wasn’t thinking⎯”

“Never mind that now,” said Remus, a little more sharply than he intended. “Where are we?”

“Upstairs,” said Sirius, “this used to be a picture-framers, I think.” He sighed. “It was Peter⎯he, well⎯it was a trap.”

“Yes,” said Remus shortly. “I gathered as much.” He flexed his fingers, testing the bonds. “Did Peter take my wand?”

“Naturally,” Sirius confirmed. “He gave you a good wallop on the head too. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Fine,” Remus said for the second time. “Why don’t you just transform?”

Sirius smiled grimly. “Would if I could. But Peter put some kind of jinx on these ropes that stops me from changing.”

“Well, then,” Remus said, finally feeling his anger drain away. “You look terrible. Are you all right?”

Sirius paused in his struggle against the ropes. “I’m⎯” he blinked. “I felt murderous before.” He sighed. “Now I just feel stupid.”

“Actually I was referring to your injuries,” said Remus lightly. “But I’m glad to hear you’ve calmed down enough to see clearly.”

A hiccupping laugh escaped from Sirius’ throat. “I deserve that.”

Remus smiled softly. “It’s all right, Padfoot. Honestly.” The rope around his wrists suddenly gave way. “Sirius,” he hissed, “I think I’ve⎯”

Something creaked outside the room and the door was swung open to reveal Peter Pettigrew, cloaked in a dirty grey robe and limping slightly.

“Hello, Remus,” he wheezed, small eyes travelling over Remus’ prostrate form. Remus kept his hands tightly clenched behind his back, though the ropes lay limp against his arms.

“Hello, Peter,” he replied in as steady a voice as he could manage.

“Don’t⎯don’t even think about moving,” said Peter, shutting the door behind him with a click.

“What do you want with us?” growled Sirius, whose expression had regained some of its fury at the sight of Peter.

Peter flinched. He was really quite a pathetic image, thought Remus. But there was a wily unpredictability about him that made him dangerous. Peter pulled out Remus’ wand and aimed it at Sirius’ heart, though his hand shook. “To kill you, of course.”

Sirius blanched and Remus yelled, “ _No_! Peter⎯don’t!”

Peter swivelled around, pointing the wand at Remus instead. “There’s nothing to be done about it,” he said, lips trembling. “You’ll only get in the way.”

“The way of _what_?” said Remus, trying desperately to stall for time.

“The Dark Lord,” said Peter, eyes wide. “He’s going to come back.”

Remus felt something icy grip his heart, but he ploughed on. “Is that what the dagger is for? To bring Voldemort back?”

Peter nodded slowly, an unsettling smile stretching across his face, “blood of the enemy, forcibly taken. The dagger will bind two enemies and restore the Dark Lord to his former power!”

Sirius snarled with rage. “You are not⎯going⎯to⎯bring⎯Voldemort⎯back!”

“I am!” squeaked Peter, his cheeks reddening. “And you’re not going to stop me!”

“ _WE’LL SEE ABOUT THAT_!” roared Sirius, but the ropes held fast against his furious struggling. “ _Don’t you hurt Remus_!” he yelled as Peter rounded on Remus once again. “ _Don’t you⎯dare_!”

Remus watched Peter warily; he was advancing, eyes glinting. “You don’t want to do this, Peter,” he said. “We were your friends once.”

The wand was directly above Remus now, pointed between his eyes. Sirius was cursing in the corner, yanking wildly at his bonds. “Once⎯maybe,” said Peter in response to Remus. “But then James went off with Lily. And you and Sirius were always together. None of you gave a second thought to me, did you?” His voice had risen an octave and his face had turned a nasty shade of reddish-purple. “You didn’t care about me. Maybe you never did.”

Remus was going to have to do something soon, but he felt rooted to the spot. “Don’t, Peter,” he whispered. “Not like this.”

Something in Peter’s face seemed to change; he looked thoughtful for a moment. “You’re right, Remus,” he said, slowly lowering his wand and reaching into his pocket for something. “Not like _this_.”

At that moment Remus’ brain kicked into gear and he launched himself forward, tackling Peter to the ground. Remus’ wand fell from his grip and rolled away, and something else slipped out of his pocket and clanked to the floor. Peter cried out as he fell and scrabbled to grab hold of whatever had clattered across the room. But Remus got there first, grasping it in his fist. With a start, Remus realised it was the Serpenine Dagger, but before he could hold it to Peter’s throat, an excruciating pain erupted across his palm and he dropped it, gasping and clutching his hand.

“ _REMUS_!” Sirius yelled.

But in the moment Remus had let the dagger go, Peter had scrambled across the floor and regained hold of it. He held it in front of him as if it were a sword. “Don’t come any closer, _werewolf_ ,” he spat, “this dagger’s made from pure silver.”

Remus tried to ignore the pain in his hand; he advanced towards Peter and stumbled over something in his path. Without taking his eyes off Peter he bent to pick up his wand and held it aloft with his left hand. “We gave you many chances,” he said sternly. “But now your time is up.”

“Stay away⎯” Peter began to speak, but without warning a gigantic black shadow had collided with him and knocked him to the ground. A ferocious snarl echoed throughout the room as Sirius tore at Peter’s robes. There was a blur of movement, too fast for Remus to see, and suddenly Sirius was thrown sideways, whimpering as he transformed back into human shape.

Remus yelled Sirius’ name, rushing to kneel beside him.

Peter was standing by the door, the dagger still held triumphantly aloft, blood now staining its edges. “Don’t try to stop me, Remus,” he said. “There are powers at work you can’t even imagine. Dark powers. After tonight no witch or wizard will sleep soundly in their bed.” Peter scrabbled for the handle and found it, swinging the door open behind him. “The Dark Lord will rise. And I’m going to help him do it.” He placed the dagger carefully between his front teeth and then he began to shrink, vanishing almost completely except for the rat that took his place and scurried down the stairs, dagger clamped tightly in its mouth.

Remus turned his attention to Sirius, whose face was pale and contorted with pain. “Sirius?” he asked in a quavering voice. There was a wound in his side, oozing dark blood at an alarming speed. Fumbling with his wand, Remus muttered an incantation over the gash. Silvery light coalesced around the broken skin and the bleeding slowed to a trickle.

Sirius exhaled loudly and reached for Remus’ arm, squeezing it tightly. “Hullo,” he said, “that’s better.”

Remus looked at him frantically for one moment, his heart was beating unnaturally fast and breathing had become unreasonably difficult. “Remus⎯” Sirius began, but was cut short when Remus leaned down and kissed him, furiously, on the mouth.

“Oh,” Sirius murmured when they broke apart.

“Time’s short,” Remus decided, pressing his nose into Sirius neck just below his ear. “Time’s short⎯for us.”

Sirius heaved himself into a sitting position and touched his hand lightly, tentatively, to Remus’ collar. “We didn’t⎯Peter got away. Again.” He swallowed with a clicking sound.

“Yes,” Remus nodded, fingers pressed against Sirius’ jaw. “It’s unfortunate.”

“What did he mean⎯about tonight?”

Remus shook his head. “I don’t know.” He skimmed gentle fingers over Sirius’ lip, examining the swollen cut. “We have to go.” With a gargantuan effort he pulled himself to his feet, then offered a hand to Sirius, who gritted his teeth as he stood.

Together they made their way out of the strange little shop and into the cool darkness of the night.

***

Buckbeak landed silently, wings flattening the tall grass of the unkempt yard as they hit the ground. Sirius slid off first; he was pale, lips pressed together in a thin line. The flight had chilled Remus, and he felt fresh pain in his belly and hand and head. Summoning up the last of his strength, he slipped from Buckbeak’s smooth back, relieved to feel Sirius’ hands on his shoulders as he touched the ground.

They dragged each other inside, Sirius guiding Remus towards his bedroom. There, he pushed Remus gently onto the mattress and sank down next to him so they were lying side by side. Despite the pain, Remus felt warmth unfurl within him, spreading to the tips of his fingers.

A moment passed, then Sirius was leaning over him; his fingers pulled Remus’ shirt up to reveal a grotesque bruise travelling outwards from his belly. Sirius hissed and touched the skin at its edges, his forehead creased with concern.

“I think I’ll live,” said Remus lightly, though the skin was tender and sore. “How’s yours?”

Sirius ignored him and reached instead for Remus’ wand, which was sticking out of his pocket. “Learnt this when we were sixteen,” he said, positioning the wand over Remus’ bruised stomach. “ _Hemasano_ ,” he muttered and a pleasant warmth spread out over Remus’ skin as the bruise changed from mottled purple to a sickly yellow colour. “Used to come in useful after the full moon.”

“I remember,” said Remus. He pushed his fingers through his hair and breathed an immense sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

Cool fingers pressed against his jaw and at his temples. Sirius’ face was inches from his own and Remus could feel his breath skimming his cheek. “Remus⎯”

Remus twitched his lips into an exhausted smile and he curled his fingers into Sirius’ black hair. “I’m much too tired to think about this,” he said, and brought their lips together in another kiss, this one slower than the last.

“How’s your hand?” asked Sirius when they broke apart at last.

Remus flexed his swollen fingers tentatively; they stung where the dagger had touched them but the burn wouldn’t scar. “Silver,” shrugged Remus. “It was more of a shock than anything else.”

Sirius sank back against the pillows. “He’s going to use it to bring Voldemort back,” he said wearily. “The dagger’s important somehow, and we let him escape with it.”

“Perhaps,” agreed Remus. “But Peter didn’t get everything he wanted; he didn’t kill us.”

“Not for lack of trying,” spat Sirius. “What happened tonight? That’s what I want to know. It was the World Cup⎯do you think⎯?”

“I don’t know, Sirius,” Remus said, squeezing Sirius’ arm gently. “But there’s nothing we can do right now. I need sleep. You need sleep. So⎯sleep.”

Sirius huffed into Remus’ hair. “That was uncharacteristically inarticulate of you, Remus,” he said. “But I take your point.”

They settled closer, Remus grazing his lips over Sirius collar. He could feel Sirius’ pulse in his neck, and gradually the steady thrum coaxed his eyelids shut. Sirius muttered something indistinct into the pillow, but Remus was already slipping away into a deep, unbroken sleep.


	7. Epilogue

“You are right to be concerned, Remus; I do not believe we have seen the last of the Serpenine Dagger.”

Dumbledore was standing in Remus’ kitchen, a genial smile on his face. He had apparated in earlier, having received a message from Remus regarding the events of last night. Some of the events, anyway: the Daily Prophet had filled them in on the rest. They had at least been able to console themselves with the knowledge that Harry was safe.

“Ah⎯Sirius,” said Dumbledore suddenly. “I thought I might find you here.”

Sirius appeared in the doorway, face pale; he didn’t look surprised to see Dumbledore, just weary. “Hello Albus,” he said, moving to stand beside Remus.

“As I was just explaining to Remus,” continued Dumbledore, “I do not believe the dagger’s powers should be underestimated. It seems likely that Pettigrew requires it for a ritual of some kind.” He frowned thoughtfully before continuing. “Nevertheless, I hope you do not feel as though your efforts⎯however foolhardy⎯have been in vain; I expect you have rattled Pettigrew considerably, and he has many more obstacles to overcome before Voldemort could ever rise again.” He stared knowingly at the two of them. “For now there is little we can do but wait; I will call on you when the time is right, you may be certain of that.”

His eyes twinkled in the way that only Albus Dumbledore’s could. “I am glad to see you two have reconciled. We are all better off with friends at our sides.

“And now I’m afraid I must leave you. I have much to organise before the new term at Hogwarts begins!” He drank the last of the tea Remus’ had poured for him. “Thank you, Remus.”

Then, with a swish of his cloak and a _pop_ , Dumbledore was gone.

Sirius turned to Remus. The evening sunlight threw a golden halo around his face but his eyes were in shadow. “It’s happening again,” he said fists clenched at his side. “Just like before. Dumbledore⎯”

“Shh,” Remus hushed him with a hand on his cheek. “Whatever happens⎯” his voice wavered. He cleared his throat. “Sirius, whatever happens, we’ll see it out together. You and I.”

The anguished curl to Sirius’ mouth softened. He smiled uncertainly. “Remus,” he said, curling his fingers around Remus’ raised wrist. “I never wanted anything else.”

The glow of the sun had vanished beyond the treetops, leaving only the ordinary figure of Sirius in its wake, grey eyes blazing with hope and fear.

“Nor I,” said Remus quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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